


Family is Family

by LaurelynFaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All her Fault, Crack-y, F/M, Gen, Jim's niece ships Sherlolly, Sherlolly - Freeform, This is Broomclosetkink's fault., Unbeta'd, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelynFaye/pseuds/LaurelynFaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family is Family, and you have to love them.<br/>But God help you if your family happens to include the Moriartys.<br/>In for a wildly Cracky-ride, strap in, keep all hands inside the ride. Have fun!<br/>(If anyone wants to be my beta... I would worship at your feet)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family is Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broomclosetkink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broomclosetkink/gifts).



> Disclaimer; I do not own anything. Not even the computer I’m writing this on.  
> AN- This is for Broomclosetkink, who gave me the idea. Love you Broomy.

James Alexander Moriarty, consulting criminal, evil genius, and voted best dressed madman of the century by Villain Magazine, sat fuming over the most recent numbers for his operations in Seattle. The idea was truly genius if he did say so himself. Massive amounts of cocaine shipped there and across America through, of all things- the art galleries. A dealer ordered several worthless painting, for exorbitant amounts of money, and received the shipments of both together. And as far as authorities were concerned that money was spent on paintings. But as brilliant as it was, it simply wasn’t making the projected amounts of money. His train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door.

                “Sorry, Darling, no time to talk! Daddy’s busy!” He sing-songed   back, attention returning to the work on his desk. Whatever suicidal idiot was at the door knocked again, so Jim picked up the Ming vase he used as a pen holder and flung it at the door, shattering on impact. And despite that, the idiot at the door continued to knock. “Fine! Come in! But this had better be important or I will flay you alive and then feed you to sharks.” Jim snarled.

                In walked Sebastian Moran; Jim’s second in command, favorite sniper, and all around bully boy.  “Boss, we’ve got a problem” he graveled “your sister is coming to London. She’ll be here by seven tomorrow morning.”

                Jim looked up, startled. His sister disliked London, all of England actually, and hadn’t been back since she married the heir to a Mafioso empire, and whelped his first kid. There had been the small issue of her being #12 Interpol most wanted, but Jim had taken care of that several years ago. “It’s out of the blue for sure, but I’m not sure how it’s a problem, in fact it might be helpful. I could use a second pair of eyes on this, and the Sherlock issue.”  His twin sister was just as devious as he was, and could be considerably more vicious.

                Sebastian bent over, hands on the desk, so that he could look Jim in the face, and the horror in his lieutenant’s eyes struck terror in Jim’s heart. Sebastian was only afraid of one thing. One single thing. God have mercy. England would fall.

 

                “She’s bringing the kids.”

* * *

 

                Make no mistake, Jim loved his sister, and adored her brats (all five of them). He was a sadistically anti-social personality, with few morals and less scruples, but family was family. He always visited them on Holidays and sent extravagant presents for their birthdays. However, all five of his sister’s children had inherited their shared …penchant for… mischief. To make a bad situation horrific, they didn’t have the singularly defining purpose Jim and their mother had, to stay alive on the streets. Instead their attention turned to other things.

                The oldest had a special talent for large dramatic events; Short circuiting the power grid for all of New York City, disabling the elevator to the top of Sear’s tower in Chicago, framing a Governor for an assassination attempt on a visiting diplomat, jamming the wifi of the entirety of Seattle. The twins stole things. A Faberge egg, the crown jewels of Lichtenstein, the entire collection of pre-revolution Russian jewelry from the Houston Museum of natural history, the launch codes to half of Russia’s nukes, the speaker of the house’s toupee. The oldest boy was a dab hand with chemistry and had a special fondness for blowing things up, along with noxious gasses. And the youngest. Oh the youngest. The youngest was sweet as pie until you made him upset, then his vicious temper was matched only by the violence he was capable of inflicting. The last time Jim visited, one of his men had the nerve to pat him on the top of his head. He had been in the hospital for a month, and was still attending physical therapy.

* * *

 

                “Nothing for it, Sebby darling. My dear sister doesn’t change her mind. Batten down the hatches and prepare for the storm of the century.”

* * *

 

Franchesca Lupo, the only daughter and eldest child of Joseph and Miranda Lupo (nee Moriarty) slept the entire flight to London, waking only as they hit the tarmac, to the face of her youngest sibling hanging over her. Startled , she jerked upright, banging their heads together.

“Michael James! What the hell were you doing?” she snapped tersely, rubbing her head.

The little brat smiled his distinctive ‘I’m an angel’ smile, where his dimples showed and his blue eyes sparkled.  “Silly Frankie!” he giggled “Sleeping when there’s trouble to stir and mischief to make!” A sly grin slid over her face, even as she slapped the back of his head, for calling her Frankie. Little brother was right. There was planning to do, and fun to be had.

 

Perhaps a technical difficulty with the London Eye, or a fire alarm at Buckingham Palace, something new was called for. So much Chaos to create and so little time, she would need to hurry.  The best part? Uncle Jim would be there, and his plans were so much **_fun_** to mess with.  It was worth the trouble she occasionally got into. So worth the trouble.

* * *

 

                Mycroft looked up from his desk as his assistant sat in the chair across from him. He looked her up and down, and raised an eyebrow, surprised by what he had deduced. Something extremely distressing had interrupted her lunch about three quarters of the way through (salmon kebabs, humus, pita, iced tea).

                “ _She’s_ coming, Mr. Holmes.” Anthea choked out. “Miranda Lupo.  Formerly known to us, and Interpol as Mirada Moriarty. And she’s bringing her spawn with her.”

                Sitting back, Mycroft smiled. It was always nice to deal with other people’s family issues, rather than his own. This could, perhaps, turn out for the best. The girl was profiled as something of a romantic, who had a documented tendency to interfere with her Uncle’s plans. Also, it was always nice to have the CIA in his debt. And since they hadn't warned him they were coming, until it was too late. Well they certianly owed him.


End file.
